Colors

by Russell J. Sanders

  “I’m so, so glad he approves.”

  “Melissa”—be gentle, Neil—“you’ve got to stop doing that.”

  “Doing what?” Her words are innocent, but her tone telegraphs she knows exactly what I’m talking about.

  “You know what: being so negative about Zane.”

  “Okay, okay… I’ll try not to offend her, uh, him anymore.”

  I try ignoring her, putting the problem out of sight, out of mind. “We should do some Broadway numbers, also,” I say.

  “Oh, another one of Zane’s ideas?” Her sarcasm is loud and clear, but she apparently checks herself because her next words are kinder. “I would expect that from him, but I don’t know if I’m comfortable doing that kind of music.”

  “Melissa, Zane knows theater. And there is a lot of good inspirational music in the theater. He can be a big help to us.”

  “Zane, Zane… have you completely fallen under his spell?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You know… people like him. They know how to worm their way into things and turn people.”

  “Melissa? Are you crazy or what? I told you Zane is a professional. He can help.”

  “Yeah. Like he’s already helped. He’s taken over, now, hasn’t he?” There’s anger there. Pisses me off.

  “Calm down, Melissa.” Steam is building in me. I almost hiss at her.

  “Neil, he planned our whole program. And I wasn’t even there. Yes, I call that worming his way in. And I don’t like it one bit.”

  A breath. I don’t like her this way, yet I don’t want to jeopardize the concert, either. Kid gloves, Neil.

  “Melissa, I’m open to suggestions. What do you want to do?”

  “First of all—I don’t want to do that song, the one he suggested.”

  “You mean ‘I Don’t Know How to Love Him’? Okay, no problem. It’s out.”

  “You mean it? Won’t your friend be mad?”

  “I doubt it. But it doesn’t matter.” I put a smile in my voice, using all the acting training I’ve ever had. I’m with Melissa. She’s my girlfriend. But I don’t like her attitude about Zane. I’ve got to change her mind about him—eventually—but right now, I want her to be happy. After all, we’re doing a whole concert together. At her church. A place that means the world to her. “It’s our concert, not his. You can pick your own solo. Got anything in mind?”

  “I’ll think of something. There are a lot of great songs.”

  Sounds like I’ve appeased her. Crisis averted… for now.

  “Melissa, I really like the songs from Godspell—and not because Zane suggested them.”

  “Neil….” Annoyance creeps in her voice again. “Your friend may know a lot about the theater, but I know the Church. I don’t want to do a bunch of chorus-line type songs, with high kicks and feathers.”

  I sing the first line of “Prepare Ye” from Godspell: “Prepare ye, the way of the Lord.”

  A beat.

  Nothing.

  “That’s all it is, Melissa. Just those seven words, sung over and over.”

  Another beat.

  “Well… maybe.”

  “I believe, I believe, I believe….” The Spring Awakening number.

  “What’s that?” Melissa’s voice perks up.

  “What?”

  “That song you were just singing.”

  “Was I singing?” I play innocent, hooking her, then reeling her in.

  “Stop it, Neil… you know you were singing. What was it?”

  “Oh, that. Just a song.” I believe, I believe, I believe and this time going beyond the opening and on to the lines that say there is love in heaven. “You like it?”

  “Wow. That’s amazing—I love it. That would make a truly incredible middle song in the program. Where did you say you found it?”

  A little soft-pedaling. “Well, it’s from a show called Spring Awakening, and there’s not a chorus line, a bead, a feather, or a high kick in the whole song. What do you say?”

  Melissa laughs. “Okay, okay. We’ll do that one, but nothing else Zane suggested.”

  That’s it for progress—for now, at least. I’ll give her time, then slip in the other two Godspell songs.

  “Tell you what,” I say, “you get some sheet music together, and I’ll pick out some things I like. We’ll meet at your house tomorrow after school. Okay?”

  “Sounds good,” Melissa agrees. “Night, Neil.” Her voice has suddenly become honey.

  “Yeah, sure. Good night.”

  I hang up the phone.

  She’s going to have to get over this Zane hang-up. Tomorrow she’ll see Zane is right about the show tunes. I’ll just sneak in his suggestions. Funny… a month ago I didn’t have any friends, now I have two of them fighting over me. Well, Zane will learn to share, and Melissa will just have to get over her petty jealousy.

  Chapter 8

  THE SUN nears the horizon as I arrive at the church. Melissa said to meet her in the sanctuary. My stomach’s gurgling at the thought. Just hold on, Neil. Melissa said we could go over last minute prep for the concert. That will surely be enough to distract me.

  “Neil,” she says, rushing toward me as I walk down the aisle, eyes straight ahead, blocking out any colors that may be shining through. She hugs me. It’s a nervous, apprehensive hug for her; for me, it’s just apprehensive. The hug does nothing to allay my fears.

  “I’ve been waiting for you. Why are you so late?” Her voice quavers. Did she work herself up over nothing?

  “Late? We said 6:15, and it’s 6:11. I wouldn’t call that late.”

  “You’re right.” She shakes her head. “I’m just nervous, I guess.”

  I stare into her eyes, ignoring the inevitable. There’s no one around, no one to see. I could kiss her, right here, for a few minutes longer. She’d like that. Then maybe she’ll let me focus on the concert—the concert only. That’s all that matters.

  “Look,” I say, placing my hands on her shoulders and looking her straight in the eye, “there is nothing to be nervous about. We are totally prepared, and you are fantastic.” I force a smile and try to be upbeat, delaying her hello kiss for whatever, a reason I’m not entirely sure of. “And besides, you look maavelous tonight.” Uh-oh. Wrong choice of words.

  “Maavelous? Did you pick that up from your friend Sweet Zane?”

  I know I blew it, but I don’t like the tone in her voice. “Don’t start. This is our night. Don’t let anything mess this up.”

  “Okay.” Melissa looks down at the carpet. “Thanks for the compliment.” Crisis averted.

  “I meant it. You look beautiful.” She smiles at me. I’ve won her over. And finally I plant the long-delayed kiss. I feel her loosen up. “Is the mic ready?” I say.

  “I think so. Kenny said it would be set up and waiting for us. I’ll test it.” She bounds up onto the altar platform. I like her burst of enthusiasm.

  “Testing… one… two… three…. How does that sound?”

  “Great,” I answer, trying to match her mood.

  Melissa shifts the microphone to the center. “Is this about where we want it?” She casts her eyes heavenward to see if the mic is centered on the platform.

  Without thinking, my eyes follow hers. Red, green, purple, yellow, blue, orange. I stagger a step backward. Shut my eyes like an alligator clamping his jaws on his prey. Shake my head, releasing the colors. Open. Suddenly mesmerized. The colors stain Melissa’s light dress.

  “Neil, what’s wrong?” Melissa rushes to me.

  Beads of perspiration break out across my forehead. Bile rises.

  “Are you okay?” She leads me to a chair and sits me down.

  I swipe the sweat. My stomach settles just a bit. “I’m fine,” I lie. “I guess the reality just hit me. I felt a flock of butterflies in my gut.”

  “Everything will be fine. Just trust the Lord.”

  The same Lord who protected that nine-year-old I once was?

  �
��I’ll get you some water. You rest a minute.” She leaves the sanctuary.

  I close my eyes, hoping for the bliss of solitude.

  But the colors still dot the inside of my eyelids. Orange, blue, green, red, purple, yellow. Why won’t they go away?

  A nine-year-old voice: “Please, stop.”

  “You like it, Neil. You know you do.” Brother Gramm’s hot breath. It smothers him.

  “No,” the boy Neil protests.

  But Brother Gramm keeps on, touching him, touching himself. It seems to take forever.

  The voice echoes, “Your body is a gift from God. And I am a man of God. He wants you to share your body with me, Neil. You want to please God, don’t you? God loves you, Neil. He doesn’t want you to disappoint him. But remember, this is our little secret. And you won’t tell because you like it.”

  A tear slides down my cheek.

  “Here’s some water, Neil.” Melissa holds the cup to my lips.

  No! I don’t want to stay here. I blink my eyes several times. Did I like it? Was that why I couldn’t fight him off me?

  “Neil.” There is worry in Melissa’s voice. “We have a concert to do.” She tilts the cup up, letting water spill across my lips. “Drink some of this. You’ll feel better.”

  A shudder, like reality pushing through. I look up at her as the cool water slides down my throat.

  Then I realize: no more colors. I look to the windows. The sun has set. Safe—for now.

  I gulp more of the water, suddenly more thirsty than I’ve ever been in my life.

  “You’re going to be okay, right?” Melissa pleads.

  I swallow. “More.”

  Melissa jumps up, rushing the cup to the water fountain in the foyer.

  I shake my head from side to side. Clear the lingering cobwebs.

  She’s back with the water. I grab the cup, tip it up, and drink the whole thing in one swallow.

  “I don’t know what came over me.” I cough. Talking while swallowing has done me in. But it’s a good feeling. An alive feeling.

  Melissa leans in, surrounds my neck with her arms, touches her cheek to mine. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

  Instead of pulling away, I find I like this. She’s loving, caring. I don’t know if I’ll ever welcome her touch all the time, but right now, it’s comforting. “I’m fine now. Don’t worry.”

  “Good,” she says, breaking away. “One thing I forgot to tell you.” Melissa hesitates. “At the end of the program, Kenny will do an invitation.”

  “Invitation?”

  “You know—like at the end of the Sunday morning service—where he invites people to accept the Lord and join the church.”

  “Oh, great. That’s all we need to end our concert.”

  “The Lord’s concert,” Melissa almost whispers. Reverent-like.

  “Okay, okay—the Lord’s concert,” I echo. Hate the churchy stuff, but God, I’m glad to be thinking about the concert again. The show must go on.

  “One other thing.” Melissa measures her words carefully.

  What now?

  “You know, Neil, if you want to keep singing with the choir, you need to join the church.”

  Crap. “Oh, no,” I protest. “No way.”

  She starts to counter my resistance. She puts her hand on my arm, but I stand, take two quick steps away, and change the subject. “When’s the accompanist going to be here?”

  “She said she’d be here about 6:45,” Melissa answers, evidently giving up her campaign. But I know her: she won’t give up this easily. I’ll be prepared the next time she brings it up.

  “Well, she needs to be here now,” I say a bit too urgent sounding. The colors incident, the invitation, the joining the church thing—all a bit too much.

  “She’ll get here, Neil. Calm down.”

  God, please help me get through this.

  THINGS ARE going well. The Godspell number, the opener, was well received, as were Melissa’s first solo—we agreed on two for her; after all, it is her church—and the three Miriam songs. The hymn medley? Big, big hit.

  But “I Believe” twisted my mind. Strangest reaction I’ve ever had in a performance. Several audience members waved their hands in the air during the song, eyes closed. Strange, strange, strange.

  Then I remembered the same thing happened Sunday. That’s when I was reminded this was no ordinary concert. We’re here, in a church. Not just a church, but the biggest church in town. Theater’s in my blood. I perform and everything slips away. I forget where I am. I read once about a “method” actor making a movie. Said he would go into character and stay in character until the end of the shoot. Nobody could get close to him, not even his costars, all megastars themselves, because his character was a loner, so he was too. I’m kinda like that.

  But hands waving in the air breaks my concentration. And I don’t like that, church or no church.

  Next up is Melissa by herself, yet again. As she begins, I zone out. I need my concentration back. My solo’s next, and I have to be ready. I run through the “show” I’ve invented for my song: My character is Glenn, a midthirties, beer-drinking, blue-collar worker. Glenn’s son Tyler is in a coma. Glenn, who never goes to church, has spent the night praying in a hospital chapel, making promises to God, asking him to bring Tyler out of the coma.

  “You’re going to be all right, Tyler, buddy.” Glenn hovers over Tyler’s hospital bed. “Just open your eyes for Dad.”

  The sun is coming up, streaming sunbeams through the window.

  Slowly, Tyler begins to rouse. His face has a “Where am I?” look. Then he pulls on Glenn’s hand. A look of joy comes over Glenn’s face. He embraces his son, saying, “Thank God, thank God,” over and over.

  Tyler’s first word out of the coma: “God?”

  Glenn points to the window and says, “Yes. He brought you back to me, son. Do you see him there? In the sunshine?”

  As I get deep inside Glenn, feeling the joy, the gratitude he feels that his son has awakened, I’m startled by the applause for Melissa’s number. She has finished. I’m up.

  Showtime.

  Glenn steps to center as Melissa walks offstage. He stares out at the audience, then looks up.

  Help me, here, he begs.

  And then, at the risk of breaking character, I, too, repeat Glenn’s prayer. I hope some unseen force out there is listening. I once had faith. Not a shred now. But, if Someone is out there, I hope He’s listening.

  The pianist begins the intro. Tyler. I bow my head, looking prayerful, channeling Glenn.

  And Glenn begins to sing, quietly praising his God, pouring out the magnificent lyrics that praise God for the world he has created.

  Giving the performance of my life, I—no, Glenn finishes with the last line, a rousing statement of the song’s title, an affirmation of Glenn’s God’s greatness.

  Immediately, the congregation rises. They are shouting, applauding, whistling, stomping. “Amen!” and “Praise him!” reverberate in the cavernous space. And I also hear “Wonderful!” and “Bravo!” Church, meet theater. Theater, meet church. I feel like Thespis, that first actor, must have felt upon hearing his first applause. I’m awestruck.

  I don’t want to leave the character behind. I don’t know what to do. Is it acceptable to take a bow in church? The teenager in me is confused. What’s the protocol here? But the actor in me is milking it for everything it’s worth. This is amazing.

  Satine whispers in my ear, “Go for it.” I start to bow.

  But—suddenly—I rein in actor Neil. It is church, after all. A bow is a little over the top, so I simply stand as the crowd finally dies down and sits. At last I break character and nod.

  Melissa takes her place beside me. We clasp each other’s waists, as rehearsed, as we sing the finale, “You’ll Never Walk Alone.”

  The final chord chimes. Brother Kenny strides up to the pulpit.

  “Brothers and Sisters, Neil and Melissa have said it all—you’ll never walk alone i
f you walk with the Lord. Won’t you pray with me, now?”

  He bows his head. “Dearest Lord Jesus, walk with all of us here tonight….”

  As Brother Kenny prays, I say my own prayer of thanks. Whoever you are out there, thank you for standing by me. I needed the strength you gave me.

  Amens boom throughout the congregation as Kenny continues speaking over the quiet piano music.

  “There are those among us who have felt the Lord’s power through this glorious music we have heard here tonight. Perhaps you have joined our community and are looking for a church home. Won’t you make the Church of Shelton Road your spiritual home?”

  I peer out at the congregation. Some are already standing, moving toward the front.

  “Maybe there are those of you who have felt drawn to the Lord tonight,” Kenny continues, his voice quiet, soothing, mesmerizing. He knows his business well. “You have felt alone, unloved. You are not alone.”

  You are not alone… you are not alone… you are not alone…. The words echo within me.

  “You have a friend here at the Church. Come to the altar, dear ones. We have counselors waiting to answer your needs. Won’t you join us?”

  I feel a pull, deep down in my heart. Something—Someone—is tugging at me.

  Am I really not alone here? Is there something for me?

  “LOOKS LIKE we were a hit.”

  “We?” Melissa laughs. “You’re the star.” I see the love she has for me fill her glowing eyes.

  “Nah,” I play my humblest self. “You had the crowd warmed up. I simply had a really good, showy song.”

  “What’s your secret, Neil?”

  “Secret?”

  The colors. Has she figured it out?

  My stomach lurches. I swallow. Then I become rational again.

  No, there’s no way. I’m being paranoid.

  “There’s no secret,” I say.

  “No, no, no.” Melissa shakes her head. “There has to be something. You sang that song as if you believed every word of it. I know you better than that. You’re not a religious guy.”

  “Okay,” I say. Now she’s talking my language. I can talk about acting until the cows come home. Aunt Jenny has a million of those sayings.